


Epilogue (BUT NOT THE END!)

by felidaereverse



Series: aaaaaaaaaaaaatrox shitpost [5]
Category: Alvin and the Chipmunks - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Depression, Extended Metaphors, Fire, Insomnia, Motels, Philosophy, Red Hoodies, Red String of Fate, Smoking, Survivor Guilt, Tattoos, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:55:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22259818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felidaereverse/pseuds/felidaereverse
Summary: Things Fall Apart
Relationships: Alvin Seville & Simon Seville & Theodore Seville
Series: aaaaaaaaaaaaatrox shitpost [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493915
Kudos: 2





	Epilogue (BUT NOT THE END!)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this exactly 3 months ago to the day, and i haven't proof-read it once since then. not as funny as the others at face value but like, They Are Still Fucking Chipmunks ghsajklf

MADITROX X

It was the morning after. Alvin, still passed out on the ratty motel carpet, groaned weakly. He had gone into the club last night knowing it was a bad idea, and now he was fully paying for the consequences of his actions.

-xxx-

_ Head. Head never changes. _ Theodore took a long, slow, drag off a glowing cig. He glowered at the reflection in the ashtray at his elbow, which glowered back at him.  _ What does it all even mean, anymore. Is there a god? What does it mean for our world if this god hasn't even enough mercy to spare us from this fate?  _ A burning ember flicked onto his cheek in the ashtray, marking the same spot as his scar.  _ Shameful. Fucking shameful. _

The gnarled chipmunk rousted his flabby body from the office chair. He wasn't as young as he used to be, wasn't as limber. His back often ached, as did his paws, and it reminded him of that night so many years ago. The scar rippling his fur didn't help. Almost unconsciously, he traced a claw along its length. Ear to chin, chin to ear, ear to chin. The itchy feeling didn't go away, like a houseguest that had greatly overstayed its welcome. His steps were muffled by the shag carpeting as he crossed the room to look out the floor-to-ceiling window. Trees swayed in a light breeze, but the darkening clouds on the horizon belied a coming storm. Theo twitched an ear. The air pressure was already shifting.

He thought of the past.

-xxx-

Alvin finally woke to the scent of burning and a blaring noise. At first he thought it was his phone, but as he became more aware of his surroundings, he realized it was a fire alarm. Sufficiently alarmed, The A-Man scrambled to his feet and raced for the door of the motel room. The carpet's cheap fibers pricked at his bare rear paws as he stumbled blearily towards the door, not bothering to find his shoes and shove them on.

He burst out into the hall and saw the other guests caught up in a similar panic. Still a little confused about how he had ended up in the building, he was pulled along by the flow of people towards the emergency exit. It frightened him how much larger than himself all the humans were, and he whirled around, desperate for a glimpse of his brothers, or even his human guardian. Someone, anyone who could help him keep his head above the surface of this gigantic human river he had been shoved into.

His squeaks were lost in the din of louder people shouting for their own loved ones. Not that Alvin could say the ones he was looking for were truly loved. But it never would have occurred to him to regret his life-long lack of sincerity. No, regret wasn't a feeling that occurred to Alvin often at all. As his lower back tattoo predestined, he died with "no regerts."

-xxx-

Fate has always interested Simon. The fates of his two brothers, in particular, stood out to him from the sea of friends and colleagues he had accumulated over the years. His life felt cut in twain by the periods before and after Alvin's death, and he wasn't sure if he would ever recover. Guilt plagued him, kept him awake on long nights when he was cold and alone in bed. The sheets covering him were reminiscent of the tissues that had enveloped Alvin in his shoe-box coffin, and laying there always trapped him in an itchy, skin-crawling fuge. He knew Theodore felt the same. He also knew that he ought to call Theodore more, talk to him about what had happened, but he could hardly ever bring himself to pick up the phone. He was afraid of his own shame.

Fate took the oldest of his family trio from him, and he feared the loss of the youngest next. Theodore had gotten mixed up with people who had never wanted the best for him, but Simon's pleading had fallen on deaf ears for too many years. By the time Theo got himself out, it was too late. Alvin was gone, and so was Theodore's childish naïvety. Since then, his health was subpar. Doctors couldn't do much for him, and it was further complicated by Theodore's stubborn personality.  _ His guilt must be eating at him even worse than mine, _ Simon mused. Theo didn't think he deserved saving anymore.

-xxx-

Rain poured like a deluge straight from heaven, smattering against the large window. Theodore stood still, watching. Simply watching. It was all he felt qualified to do, considering his past. The sound that escaped him was not quite a sob, but more than a sniffle. He hated himself for these displays of weakness. They were what had gotten his brother killed, after all.

Theodore drew up his shoulders with a practiced, steadying breath and turned his back to the outside world. Retreating to his desk, he dug in his deep pants pocket for what he needed. The key he always carried with him sunk into the lock with a click, and he drug open the bottom drawer with a growing sickness in his stomach.

The jacket was just the same as it was all those years ago. Alvin's bright yellow "A" seemed to glare accusationally from its field of bloody red. Theodore held it out at arm's length before crushing it to his chest. It was a painful catharsis for him, muddling shame and devotion and regret and loss somewhere deep in his chest. The emotions tugged him down to the floor, where he collapsed in a chipmunk puddle under his desk. It was heartbreak that finally consumed him, physical maladies brushed to the side for enough instants that he could feel like a young kit swaddled in familial warmth for just a few brief moments. He dreamed of Simon, of  _ Alvin _ , of their childhood home.

-xxx-

Simon felt fate draw tight the red string around the necks of both his brothers. Life as it used to be was irreparable, but Simon took this in stride. Dividing his lifetime once again, he marked out whatever was left of it into a final third, resigned to carrying on the family name with no one left standing by his side. 

The bedsheets drowned him now, cold and grasping. His steeled courage brought his hand to the phone's cradle again and again, but now all there was to hear was the empty sound of the dial tone. He felt as if that tone droned in his mind day and night.

Red, red curtains closing on a stage. Red like a younger brother. Red like coughing into a tissue one day and knowing those curtains are for you, now, too.

The house lights dim, until black, black, black overtakes the vibrancy of red. 

The audience, silent, breath bated. Runner lights in the dark escort actors off the stage, down the aisles, out towards the lobby.

The light there is warmer than in the theater.

**Author's Note:**

> happy 4 month anniversary to this shitfest of a series


End file.
